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BY 



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/^ne hundred years ! and n^Vst;^!^"' 
^^' A mighty people bow 

In grateful praise ; 
'' The crown to those who fight 
For freedom, truth, and right !" 
North, South, East, West, unite 

Glad songs to raise ! 

, ■'■■ S ^ .J. 




^COPYRIGHTED BY 
LOTHROP & CO 

BOSTON. 



^^r^^^ ^&^=^s^ 




^^ 



'b'i 



'S. / 



TO 

MY HIGHLY ESTEEMED 

FRIEND AND TEACHER, 

MR. S. L. GERRY, 

THESE FEW LEAVES ARE AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED. 



.►J. 




A HUIS^DEED YEAKS AGO. 



^ 



'OW, subtle whispers of summer-tide ^ — 
^^ Though edgings of snow still clung beside 
The jagged rocks, and with half-dazed look — 
Like a child just waked— lay tlie sleepy brodxi! 
Perchance 'twas the sunshine's lengthened 

ray, 
The lowing cattle, the haze that lay 
On the Milton hills, or that strange spell 
In the robin' s note — I cannot tell — 
But Huldali, leaving her spinning, knew 
And felt the restlessness, as she threw 
The bars of the lattice open ! Cool and sweet, 
As though from some pine wood's deep re- 
treat — 
With a slow, coy tread, the fresh winds crept 
Through the sliding bars ; on the hearth, wing- 
swept, 

(3) 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Falls the startled log in a smouldering heap, 

While with playful touch the breezes keep 

The dried bouquets on the mantel shelves 

In trembling rustle ; like roguish elves 

At hide and seek mongst the piles of wool 

Soft-carded, with sudden start they pull 

And twist the thread on the idle wheel, 

Tumble the c\irls of Huldah, and steal 

Across her cheeks to leave a flush — 

Borrowed, it may be, from the blush 

Of pink arbutus, anemones. 

In their out-door work of mysteries ! 

Then, planning fresh mischief, the rude winds 

stray 
To the pantry where ('tis Saturday) 
The brown bread moulding with busy hands. 
By her kneading-trough the mother stands ; 
Another gust — away flies her cap ! 
And Tabby starts from a half-feigned nap 
When fragrant mints from the old cross-beam 
Drop into the pan of golden cream! 

(4) 



^ 



■* 



■^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A merry laughing, and swift feet run 
To close the bars ere more harm is done, 
And yet by the lattice, a long time still 
The young girl lingers, as young girls will 
When the breath of Spring thrills heart and 

brain 
With a rapture — half-akin to pain ! 
But green are the buds on the willow's bough. 
And fragrant the sod where ox and plough 
Her brother — in home-spun suit of blue — 
Is guiding the broad, deep furrows through! 
A sudden rumble — a quick bright flash 
In the April skies ! But, closing the sash, 
Our little Huldah with happy smile 
Has turned away, and merrily, while 
Her wheel is spinning, she sings a strain 
That seems of her own glad thoughts, the re- 
frain: 



A sunlit sky, and a sunlit earth, 
Blue hills and a bluer river, — 
(s) 



^^ 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Cool forest depths where the springs have birth, — 
Green fields where the grasses quiver ! 

A fair bright future — without and within — 
Glad Hope to my heart is bringing, 

For a golden thread do the grim Fates spin 
WJien they hear — a red-breast singing ! 

Another mornings just two hours old — 
'Tis a Sunday morning, clear and cold; 
Without, the crest of a waning moon 
Is slipping from brow of the Night, for soon 
Swift heralds of Dawn the east will rend 
And electric flash through the whole land 

send! 
Chill breezes from marsh and lowlands creep. 
Rustling the trees where dead leaves sleep ; 
And, now and then, through the woods is 

heard 

The wandering note of some shivering bird. 
(6) 



^ 



■^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

In the little farm-house all is still 
Save the tick of the clock, the shrill 
Sharp chirp of cricket, or tramp of mice 
'Twixt the loosened laths. 

Hark ! twice — ay, thrice ! 
And again it comes ! O God ! can it mean — 
;N'ay — hush! there's a cry the swift footsteps 

between, — 
An echoing tread on the bridge below,— 
Another call ! — and, like startled doe, 
Half doubting still if she wakes or sleeps. 
The little Huldah, a-tremble, creeps 
Down the creaking staircase, peers without 
The great hall door, and catching the shout 
Of the flying horseman, one dread word, 
" The British,''^ through all the house is heard 
Till the old oak rafters themselves are stirred ! 
To his upper loft the brother springs, 
And forth from its hiding-place, he brings 
The heavy gun that his father bore 
At Frontenac — long years before — 

(7) 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

When in fierce assault he held the ground 

And fell, at last, with a mortal wound ! 

" The red-coats — ha ! they shall not say. 

With hullets we know but children's play! 

This musket — look! 'tis as firm and true 

As ever a British gun — bran-new! " 

And the proud boy soldier soothed the fears 

Of mother and sister, kissed the tears 

Away from Huldah's cheeks, and then 

Ean down to the green where the "minute 

men," 
Their quiet hamlet homes to save. 
Had gathered in phalanx, staunch and brave! 
Ah — well-a-day ! you all have heard 
That Sabbath's story — word for word — 
How nobly they fought at Lexington, — 
The short, sharp conflict farther on, — 
The fierce bush fighting — then the shout 
Of victory; and the British rout. 
As with broken ranks they turned and fled — 

The proud Lord Percy at their head ! 
(8) 



4 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Yet what is our knowledge — tliine or mine — 

Of tliat one day — save tlie bare outline! 

In Huldali's home — why! the long hours 

crept 
As if the very pendulum slept ! 
The cries of alarm, the gathering feet 
Soon died away ; but the quiet street, 
The dead, dull silence everywhere, 
Seemed harder than anything else to bear! 
For man may fight, but woman must wait — 
And which — think you — is the easier fate? 
There were distant shots, and now and then 
The smell and the smoke of powder, when 
With chilling breath, and a wailing sound 
The fickle winds to the east veered round; 
Snug, sheltered, and safe from rude alarm 
In its quiet nook, stood the hillside farm. 
Yet the mother and Huldali felt a chill 
As they looked and listened — a sudden thrill 
Of quick, sharp pain — for dearer far 
Than our own poor lives, the beloved ones are ! 
(9) 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And our very safety — when theirs we know 
In peril must be — is an added woe! 
On the upper shelf, at close of day, 
Still folded the Sunday garments lay; 
The catechism's dreaded task 
The mother had quite forgotten to ask. 
And now the last red shaft in the west 
Had ended the hours of sacred rest 
For the day was reckoned (as it begun 
In the good old times) from sun to sun! 
And laying aside the Holy Book 
Her half-knitted stocking the mother took, 
While little Huldah began to reel 
Fresh skeins of yarn from her spinning-wheel ; 
But dull and mechanic her fingers ply 
The wonted stint, though she stands close by 
The lattice window where field and brook 
And bud and bough have the self-same look 
As yester-morn — yet the fairest scene 
Strange shadows may catch from — a day be- 
tween 1 



*tr 



* 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A weeping sky and a mourning earth, — 
Bleak hills and a bleaker river, — 

Dark forest wilds where the storms have birth, 
Brown fields where the dead leaves shiver; 

A dim, gray future — within and without — 
Bread Fear to my heart is bringing. 

For in the chill dusk, when truth is a doubt, 
I heard — a whip-poor-will singing ! 



With weight of blossom — with fruitage now, 
Droops the trailing vine and the loaded 

bough, — 
Through the grey old woods the flowers have 

gone 

Tn long procession — one by one ; 

The trembling snow-drop's pallid face 

Had hardly smiled ere it yielded place 

To violets, to twin flower bells 

And the sweet claytonia that dwells 
(II) 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A hermit within its mossy nook ; 

And now, like lighted torch, by the brook 

Flames the cardinal flower, while golden rod 

With the asters' deep rich purple, nod 

In the meadows brown, as if the sun 

And shadow were melted into one ! 

And all this time the tide of war 

Whose sudden rise old Middlesex saw. 

That April morning — as in a dream — 

Has ebbed and flowed in one vast stream 

Throughout the land ; their white and red 

The bright June roses scarce had shed. 

When on Charlestown's height the battle came 

That gave to one hill, a world-wide fame! 

IS'or do Southern homes their hero lack, 

For Patrick Henry echoes back 

The same determined will that fired 

Our bold Green Mountain boys — inspired 

Young Ethan Allen, when the '' keys 

Of Canada" he vowed to seize. 

And at Ticonderoga show 

(12) 



■^ 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 



How a true soldier meets the foe ! 

With smaller file, but fiercer heart — 

(It may be that the touch, the smart 

Of rifle balls — like some wines, make 

Fresh thirst, that needs fresh draughts to 

slake ! ) 
Long weeks ago the " minute men " 
To Lexington returning, when 
Their service, for the time, was through, — 
With eager, longing eyes the few 
Thin ranks were scanned, by one and all 
Whose homes had heard that '' morning call!" 
And while, impatient, to the gate 
Our little Huldah runs to wait. 
The careful mother — ere it burn — 
Her smoking " fire cake " stops to turn, 
And lay upon the fresh-scoured deal 
(Where waits the simple, evening meal) 
An extra spoon, knife, fork, and plate 
For Nathan, for the hour is late, 
And hungry, faint, she knows that he — 
(13) 



^■ 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Her poor, dear boy! — will surely be! 
In long-drawn line, the troops pass on 
Till now the scattered files have gone 
Far down the road ; and all alone — 
With altered step, with altered tone — 
Poor Huldah turns, to meet half-way 
The mother's sudden, sad dismay — 
" And yet 'tis likely we may find 
He tarried, just a while, behind — 
Or, mayhap, joined the troops that lay 
Around old Boston, for they said 
With Washington now at their head 
The ' Continentals ' meant, ere long, 
To enter in, with shout and song!" 
So Huldah and the mother try 
To cheer each other — drawing nigh 
The dying embers, as they wait 
To hear the footstep at the gate ! 
And still untouched the supper stands 
While steadily the old clock hands 
Are traveling on from hour to hour — 

(14) 



■^ 



•>< 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

As if they held some subtle power 

And knew our hopes, fears, life and death 

The while they number every breath! 

With morning came fresh hope, fresh plan — 
By questioning each *' minute man," 
The truth, of course, would soon be shown, 
And it were better all were known — 
The very worst — than longer bear 
This burden of suspense and care! 
What did they learn ? Well, one man said 
The boy, he noticed, far ahead 
Of rank and file that morning, when 
The call had come for ''minute men;" 
Another said, ''He fought right well — 
A little hero — till he fell ! " 
" Fell ? " Huldah's lips grew white with fear; 
The mother gasped, " We did not hear, — 
We did not know — " " Nay ! don't mistake," 
The blunt lips added, "lines must break 
In fight, you know; we fall, we rise, 
(15) 



^ ^ 



T 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And I am sure these very eyes 

The brave lad saw again, ere long, 

Right in the thickest of the throng!" 

" Yes! up and fighting!" said a third, 

"He sprang as lightly as a bird 

From that first wound ! "—but then, what then? 

Well, really it was doubtful when 

The fierce bush fighting came, to tell 

What happened — some ran on, some fell, 

And some had tarried to defend 

The broken columns at the end ; 

While others hid in ambush, more, 

However, had pressed on before 

To hasten the retreat ; blockade 

The city— they themselves had stayed 

Most willingly; but calls at home 

So urgent grew that they had come, 

To be " at minute's warning," still 

All ready — with a right good will ! 

With aching heart, word after word. 

As in a dream, the mother heard ; 

(i6) 



* 



■^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And Huldah, as she listened, grew 
(Such sudden change our grief and pain 
Will sometimes work — like summer rain I) 
A woman, strong to bear, to do ; 
Son, daughter, both to one whose need 
That strange, sad day was great indeed ! 



Amethyst skies, and chrysoprase hills 

Where the lengthening sunbeam creepeth. 
Murmur of south winds, babble of rills, 
Whistling of orioles, bob-o-link trills, 
Yet soundly the little bud sleepeth. 

Dull, leaden skies where the heavy clouds lower, 
Hills the glad sunshine forsaketh. 

Raw, piercing winds and a chill, drenching 
shower. 

Sobbing of pines where ^he bleating herds cower, 
Yet, look you ! the little bud waketh 1 



(17) 



^ 



-^4 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, 

O dreary winter ! Just outside 

The city still, the troops abide; 

For though, weeks since, the frozen bay 

Temptations offered to essay 

The promised, long-deferred attack. 

Yet wise war councils held them back 

A little longer still, till men, 

Stores, ammunition came, and then 

More confident the raid would be, 

And crowned with surer victory; 

So reasoned Washington, and so 

The patriots resolved to do. 

Meanwhile, young Burr and Arnold toil 

Through pathless wilds of Maine, to spoil 

Quebec, and there unite, at length. 

To give the New York troops fresh strength; 

And, midst discouragements untold, 

Montgomery, with ardor bold. 

Showed how a strong will could prevail 

The " Heights of Abraham" to scale! 

(i8) 



^ 



*u <i> 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

How little, too, in victory's hour, 

The conqueror feels Death's vaunted power! 

On leaden wing the months crept on ; 
The cold, white drifts were almost gone, 
And through the lattice bars once more 
Came hints of summer days in store; 
Yet still no tidings could be had. 
From any quarter, of the lad ! 
One hope, and only one, remained ; 
If entrance should, at last, be gained 
Within the city — who could tell ? 
He might be there — alive and well ! 
So little Huldah strives to cheer 
The mother, and allay her fear, 
The while her busy fingers ply 
Their daily tasks, and bravely try 
By ready work of ready hand 
To help the patriotic band; 
The mother, too, would do her part 
Although with very Aveary heart; 
(19) 



^ 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And many a needy soldier knows 
Her knitted jackets, mittens, hose! 

A single niglit — and lo! the sun 

Next morning showed more labor done, 

" Than my vast army, I believe, 

In a whole month's time could achieve!" 

The British general exclaimed. 

Of his own laggard troops ashamed. 

Eleven days from that March night, 

And Boston gloried in the sight 

Of streets that knew no more the tread 

Of Tory or the royal red! 

And while the British fleet still lay 

At anchor, just outside the bay, 

A new, strange banner met their eyes, 

Of thirteen stripes against the skies ! 

From our own grief and misery 

Springs the sweet balm of sympathy; 

And burdened souls, because they know 
(20) 



^. 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Life's bitterness, are quick to show 

That Christian charity which is 

So rare in such a world as this ! 

And when the thought had come, that he • 

The lost one — mongst the sick might be. 

Though never word, trace, sight or sound 

Of tlieiv beloved could be found. 

Yet hearing there the piteous cries 

Of one poor sufferer, who lies 

Just at Death's door — what do they care 

Though British uniform he wear ? 

With soothing words, with gentle touch, 

That to the sick one mean so much ! 

The mother's tender, loving hand 

His burning cheeks and forehead fanned ; 

Brought dainty bits from off her shelf, 

Delicious comfits she herself 

From luscious fruits prepared, as no 

One else (so jSTathan saidj could do! 

And when the soldier, half awake, 

(He came from Devonshire, it seemed, 

(21) 



<ih -^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, 

And of his own far, home had dreamed) 
From long delirium cried, "Oh! take 
Me quick away ! I long to see 
The trout brook, and the old oak tree, 
The fresh, green fields, the lily pond, 
And those blue mountains just beyond! " 
The mother said: " Why! let him come 
To us — we have a country home, 
And 1-oom to spare — the change might do 
More for him than the doctors knew! " 

And so, weeks after, one bright day. 
In Nathan's upper room, there lay 
A British soldier! And the news 
A wondrous zeal and fire infuse ; 
But when the noble women hear 
The innuendoes, taunt, and jeer — 
The epithets of " Tory," " spy " — 
To one and all they make reply, 
" 'Tis surely but a simple deed 
Of charity, as in his need 

(22) 



^ 



•1^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

We hope some pitying heart and true 
For our poor boy had done, would do ! 



I had a message for my love, 

Full tender, deep and true; 
And yet, O waiting, white-winged dovCy 

I could not give it you ! 

A fresh breeze kissed my cheek. 

It passed into the South — 
The land that all my longings seek — 

Yet sealed was my mouth ! 

The good ship touched the shore — 

She sailed far out of ken — 
And yet no messages she bore. 

No words of tongue or pen I 

Just then, across my path 
A sudden shadow came, 

(23) 



^ ^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

One of Go(Vs poor, who hath 
The blessing ^Hn His name,^' 

One for whom Jesus died 
Had fallen by the road ; 

I could not turn aside — 
I gave him raiment, food, 

And words of friendly cheer — 
Wlio could do less than this 

For one, a fellow man, whose tear, 
Whose smile reflecteth his ? 

Yet suddenly there shone 
The light of a new day ; 

The message had 2:)assed on 
In God^s own blessed way ! 

For Love is still the same — 

WJiate^er we dream or think — 

Though bound to one fond name. 

Perchance, yet many a link 
(24) 



^ 



■* 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

The magic chain must make, 
Ere heart can answer heart 

In perfect concord, and thus take 
Of heaven's own joy a part ! 



Now at the North — now at the South — 
The demon War, with half-closed mouth, 
Had muttered challenges all through 
The Spring ; and many knew 
The British Parliament had vowed 
" This rebel handful" should be cowed 
At once, if force of arms and men 
Could bring obedience back again ! 
But when Sir Peter's boasted strength. 
Before old Moultrie, quailed, at length ; 
And Clinton's bold attempts were foiled 
At Charleston, till his ships were spoiled 
Of colors, ammunition, stores — 
Grave apprehensions filled the corps 
Of " British regulars ; " and now, 
(25) 



^ 



*i>r 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Though troops had come with Admiral Howe, 

And though the feeble patriot band 

Was suffering loss, on sea, on land — 

Behold ! a tremor shakes the throne 

Of monarchs — wheresoever known! 

As Declaration — loud and clear — 

Of Independence, greets the ear ! 

And a new Nation takes her stand, 

United — heart and soul and hand ! 

A race full-grown, full-armed, indeed — 

As in old classic lore, we read 

How the prolific brain of Zeus 

A perfect Pallas could produce ; 

And how a legion on the plain 

Of Thebes arose, from dragon slain! 

But ah! not yet may conflict cease — 

Since armor is for war, not peace — 

And Liberty so dear, so rare, 

The precious seal of blood must bear! 

Now at Long Island — at White Plains — 

With many losses, many gains, 
(26) 



^ 



^< * 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

The contest rages fierce and strong, 
Wliile shouts of victory belong, 
Now to the royal flag, and now 
To bars and stars, whose colors show 
The heavens above, the striijes below ! 

With eager ear that autumn day, 

The British soldier as he lay 

Half-sleeping, half-awake, had heard 

The neighbors when they brought the word 

To Huldah — tarrying the while 

To catch the sunshine of her smile ! 

A crow's sharp " caw," and plaintive note 

Of ''pewee" through the still air float, 

And from the purpling grapes, a breath 

(Like that the sweet J«iy day-lily hath) 

Comes through the open sash ; and now 

A red leaf from the maple bough 

Has dropped upon the sill ; a bee. 

All honey-laden, and a free. 

Bright butterfly flit in and out; 
(27) 



•^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And from tlie orchard comes the shout 
Of children, as they shake the loaded tree! 
O rich ingathering time ! The earth 
In spring-tide, to maintain the birth 
Of myriad buds, perforce must drain 
The air of stimuli ; and brain, 
Breath, muscle, feel in turn the need 
Of life absorbed by germ and seed. 
But autumn comes with garnered store, — 
The teeming earth o'erflows once more, 
And clasping her full hand, we take 
The quick, magnetic thrills that make 
It bliss to breathe — ay! ecstasy 
As in our childhood — just to be! 
And so that bright October day, 
While listlessly the sick man lay 
And let his thoughts in quiet rhythm 
Blend with the scene — a sudden chrism 
Seemed falling on him as the dew; 
And every nerve, vein, fibre, knew 

The tide had turned — the open door 

(28) 



^ r-^ 



■* 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Of life, not death, was his once more ! 

With half a smile, yet half a sigh, 

('Twere easier then to say good-by 

To time and sense — so near had come 

His spirit to the heavenly home!) 

He glanced about him, raised his head, 

And as he caught the busy tread 

Of feet below, and then the song 

Of Huldah at her work, a throng 

Of happy thoughts filled heart and brain, 

And love of life crept back again ! 

SONG. 

Only a brave old maple, 
Shorn of its scarlet and gold. 

And traced on the scroll of sunset 
As a hand-writing black and bold ! 

A low, wailing wind frets the branches ; 
The dead leaves start up in surprise, 
(29) 



* 



*h * 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Till at length in the hush of the gloaming 
The dryad^s sad monody dies. 

O desolate tree in the meadow, 

With pleading hands stretched to the sky, 
Bo you know the glad hopes of a spring-tide 

Asleep in your folded arms lie ? 

And that never a breath of the Storm King, 

And never a drift of the snow, 
Can rifle the hud from its casket. 

Or loose the firm anchor below ? 

^Bide patiently then the bleak winter, 
And change the sad wail to a song ; 

Bear up, for the robins and bluebirds 
And south winds are coming, ere long ! 



An empty room ! what could it mean ? 

Nay! could it be that under screen 
(30) 



■>¥< 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Of iiiglit, and, mayliap, from the dread 

Of prison bars, that lie liad fled — 

The British soldier ? It is true, 

These convalescent weeks, they knew 

How restlessly he paced the floor, 

But then, they thought it nothing more 

Than, in impatience, any one 

Recovering slowly might have done. 

Yet here upon the table lay 

His watch and purse — a note to say 

This strange departure he could not 

As yet, explain to any, but 

Though words — deeds seemed in truth too 

rude 
To show his fervent gratitude — 
A debt to their sweet charity 
The life they saved henceforth should be ! 

Silent and soft and white and slow — 

On hill, stream, meadow — falls the snow! 

A hush without, a hush within, 

(3X) 



*- 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A cold, drear world where all has been 
So full of color, warmth, and glow ! 
And Huldah — looking, listening — feels 
A new, strange loneliness that steals 
The dimpling smile — the song half-way — 
(As the bleak north winds chide and stay 
With chilling breath and frowning look 
The rippling laughter of the brook!) 

And still with many a turn and phase 

The fierce war spirit stirs and sways 

The land that waits while Freedom's breath 

Seems wavering 'twixt life and death! 

The battles on the Jersey shore 

And, now and then, the cannon's roar 

From fleet and fort still keep alive 

The patriot's hope, while bravely strive 

The poor starved troops with Washington — 

A host himself ! — to spur them on ! 

Old Valley Forge — the story yet 

Comes with fresh thrill, and eyes are wet 
(32) 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

With tears unbid — what time we read 

Of bitter siifferinig, bitter need, 

All borne so uncomplainingly 

By those whose eyes might never see 

The boon they bought us — Liberty ! 

Midst disappointment, ills untold — 
Tories at home, and traitors bold — 
With massacre at Wyoming 
An added horror yet to bring! 
Still Burgoyne's surrender f aimed 
To flame again hope's dying brand, 
A flame that bright and brighter grew 
When in Manhattan's harbor lay 
At anchor, one glad summer day. 
With pennons red and white and blue. 
The long-expected, brave French fleet. 
And Count D'Estaing commanding it! 

O glad bright morning on the bay ! 
O sad, white dawning, as one ray — 
(33) 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

One only — pierced the narrow slip 

Of window, in the prison ship — 

The ^^ Jersey ^^ — worst of all throughout 

The waters of the Wallabout! 

Stifled and starved the prisoners lie, 

A wailing mass of misery, 

And living sufferers envy those 

Whose eyes are first in death to close ! 

O righteous Heaven! one day will show 

Full justice to all men, we know; 

But while the good still suffer wrong, 

And weak hands writhe beneath the strong, 

The cry must rise, ''How long? How long?" 

Among the prisoners, one man 

Creeps to the light, and dim eyes scan 

With wistful look the harbor, and 

The long, low line of sea-girt land; 

How strange the bright, blue water seems ! 

How cheerily the sunlight gleams 

On snow-white sail, on sandy shore, 

(34) 



^ 



*f -* 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And fresh, green turf where nevermore 
His feet may tread — a man, we said, 
But no ! a hoy — for, look ! liis head 
Is golden yet — and though the trace 
Of suffering has aged his face 
It is — ah yes ! we know it now, 
The same bright eye, the same fair brow 
The mother kissed that morning, when 
Tlie call had come for " minute men " ! 

Poor Nathan ! Oh ! how far away 

It seems — that one, short April day — 

When hand to hand he fought until 

There came the sense of something chill 

On hand and foot — a blank — and then 

The British ambulances, when 

He woke and heard the questioning jeer, 

"Why! how came this young rebel here!" 

We found him wounded, in the road. 

And took him, since the "red coat" showed — 

Our own, we thought — but " buff and blue" 

(35) 



■►i 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A Sturdier rebel never knew! " 
*' Ah well! they tried in vain to make 
Me compromise, or base oath take ! 
And when they could not as a sjjy 
Make use of me, they thought to try 
Fresh cruelties and quite subdue 
Me — but they little knew 
The patriotic blood that flowed 
Within my throbbing veins, and showed 
The father, grandsire, who in strife 
Of other days had yielded life 
With hero spirit ! — Well — ah well I 
They did their best, but could not quell 
My rebel ardor — years of pain, 
Imprisonment — and what the gain ? 
To fall were glorious on the field, 
But this is pitiful — to yield 
One's life by slow degrees, and know 
That it is naught to friend or foe ! 
And yet if I could only see 

The dear home faces, willingly 

(36) 



^ 



■* 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

With my poor comrades they might lay 

Me down to rest — this very day ! " 

So thought poor aSTathan as he heard, 

" Bring out your dead ! "— the morning word ! 

A hand upon the outer latch — 
A closer crowding through the hatch ! 
Who was it ? Some one else to share 
Their woe ? But no ! the tall form there — 
" Good God ! it is the very face 
I fought with in that narrow place 
Beside the road!" and Nathan turned 
To find conviction — all — confirmed, 
As pressing through the wailing crowd 
The British soldier spake aloud 
His name, and grasping then his hand. 
Without a greeting, said: "We stand — 
Though in a very different place — 
Once more, my lad, face close to face ! 
We fought right well that April day, 
But fiercest foes, I've heard them say, 

(37) 



^ — * 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Make firmest friends, so let it be 

Henceforward, boy, with tliee and me! 

For life itself, and far above 

This breath of ours, the fire of love! 

For all the sweetness of your home 

A debtor to you I have come ! 

Yet never words of mine can tell 

What bitter, bitter sorrow fell 

That day when, thinking of the face 

I covered in that dreary place 

With my own cloak, the knowledge came — 

(It may have been the likeness there 

To your sweet Huldah's brow and hair) 

My foe — their loved one — 'tis the same! 

Long months, since then, now here, now there, 

I've sought "the lost one" everywhere — 

For signed, you see, by our good king 

Your pardon and release I bring — 

And, since they wait, why ! let us come 

Without delay to that dear home!" 



(38) 



* 



*u »J« 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Face to face we stood that day, 

Fire of hatred burning, 
Till it seemed to stolid clay 

Both our hearts were turning ! 

Pain has stepped between, since then. 
Crushed the clay to powder — 

Would Love make all new again 
If we but allowed her ? 



Five times the winter snows have Iain 
On field and river, njDland, plain. 
Now here, now there, the tide of war 
North, South, East, West, alternate saw — 
But hearts grew strong when helping hands 
Were stretched from far-off, foreign strands. 
Pulaski, noble La Fayette, 
And Kosciusko — even yet 
Upon their generous deeds we dwell 
And to our eager children tell ! 

(39) 



«*■ 



■* 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Success, defeat — it was the same 

Old. tale — with just a change of name ! 

Until, one bright October morn. 

An unexpected joy was born; 

And to its depths each patriot soul 

Is stirred, while swift the tidings roll, 

''Cornwallis has surrendered! Eing 

The bells in every town, and bring 

The good news into every home — 

To you and yours sweet Peace has come!" 

And, ere the echoes die away. 

Let us one short, swift moment stray 

To Middlesex where field and brook — 

The very farm-yard — have a look 

As if some sudden joy had come 

To nestle in the hillside home. 

A sudden gust of wind that steals 

The curtain from its place reveals. 

Within the little 'Mvceping room," 

(Most often doomed to cold and gloom !) 

A lily here, a rose-bud there, 
(40) 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Arranged with dainty tliouglit and care ! 
And in their Sunday garments clad, 
The merry lass, the bashful lad,» 
The dame with cap-box in her hand. 
Come up the path, and now they stand 
In quiet groups within ; while two, 
(A manly form with English face; 
A girlish figure full of grace. 
Yet freedom too, as if she knew 
Her birthright!) joining hands repeat, 
The promises, the pledges sweet — 
'' To love, to cherish — heart for heart — 
In sickness, health — till Death us part ! ' 



Up from the meadows, down from the hills 

Snatched by the breezes, caught by the rills 

Hark I to the wonderful chorus ! 

Warfare has ended in lohite truce of peace. 

Jealousies, hatred, rivalries, cease 

When Love her elixir breathes o'er us ! 
(41) 



■•J. 



•**■ 



^ 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

And still as the years with their changes roll by, 
Breaking each harrier — strengthening each tie ; 

Union grows stronger and stronger ; 
Nation to nation is drawing more nigh — 
And since of one language, aim, ancestry — why 

Should we cherish old enmities longer ? 




(42) 



*■ 



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